Dream Man

But it was more than that. He was a cop. He had seen things, heard things, done things, that he didn’t want to have as common knowledge between him and his woman. It was something only another cop would understand. The job marked them, forever set them apart from civilians. Some cases would go with him to the grave, living in his mind. Some victims’ faces, he would always see.

He didn’t want anyone invading the privacy of his mind. Not even Marlie. His nightmares were his own.

He gathered up the sheets. “I’m going to check on some of this,” he said. “Talk to this Dr. Ewell, find out about the past six years.”

Trammell looked a little strange, a kind of amusement vying with sympathy. Dane scowled at him. Sometimes having a partner was like living with a psychic, you got to know each other so well. Trammell was sadistic enough, damn him, to enjoy seeing Dane squirm over a woman.

“What’s so damn funny?” he growled.

Trammell shrugged. “It looks like we’ll be working with her, and I was just picturing you trying to get on her good side, after the way you two hit it off. Or didn’t hit it off, I should say.”

Dane went back to his desk and got on the horn. Wryly he remembered when he had put in for detective. He had pictured a lot of fieldwork, fitting obscure pieces of evidence together like Sherlock Holmes. Instead, he had spent a lot of hours on the phone, and he’d found out that a detective was only as good as his snitches. A smart detective cultivated a lot of contacts on the street, lowlifes who were willing to drop a dime on someone else. Too bad he hadn’t had any snitches in Nadine Vinick’s neighborhood.

A call to Information got him the number for the Institute of Parapsychology in Boulder. Less than a minute later he was being connected to Dr. Sterling Ewell.

“Dr. Ewell, this is Detective Dane Hollister, Orlando Police Department.”

“Yes?”

Dane frowned slightly. There had been a wealth of caution in that one word. “I’d like to ask you some questions about Marlie Keen. She used to be affiliated with the Institute.”

“I’m sorry, Detective,” the professor said coolly. “I don’t give out any information over the telephone about my colleagues.”

“Ms. Keen isn’t in any trouble—”

“I never thought she was.”

“I simply need some background information on her.”

“As I said, Detective, I’m sorry. I have no way of knowing if you are who you say you are. Tabloid reporters have often tried to get information by claiming to be with various police departments.”

“Call the Orlando Police Department,” Dane said tersely. “Ask for me.”

“No. If you want any information about Ms. Keen, you’ll have to apply for it in person. With the proper identification, of course. Good-bye, Detective.”

The receiver clicked in his ear, and Dane hung up with a curse. Trammell said, “No luck?”

“He wouldn’t talk to me.”

“Any reason why?”

“He said he doesn’t give out information over the phone. If I want to know anything about Marlie, I have to go to Boulder and talk to him in person.”

Trammell shrugged. “So what’s the big deal? Go to Boulder.”

Dane gave him an irritated look. “The LT is going to be tickled that she’s really a psychic, but there’s no way he’ll authorize a plane ticket just for a background check on someone who isn’t a suspect.”

“You won’t know until you try.”

Ten minutes later, he had the answer he’d expected. Bonness was indeed elated that his hunch about Marlie had turned out to be accurate, and he even gloated a bit that he must have a touch of psychic ability himself. Dane barely managed to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at that. But no way could the lieutenant justify the cost of sending Dane to Colorado to check out something that didn’t really need checking out. They already had all the verification they needed, didn’t they? He dismissed the six missing years as being unimportant. The budget was tight, and they needed all the resources they had to be used tracking down criminals, not snooping into the private lives of people who weren’t doing anything wrong.

But those six years were important to Dane. “Do you have any objection if I take off tomorrow and go on my own?”

Bonness looked startled. “You mean pay your own way?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Well, no, I don’t guess there’s any problem, except that you’re in the middle of a murder investigation.”

“This is related. And the investigation isn’t going anywhere. We have no evidence, no motive, no suspects.”

Bonness sighed. “Take off, then. But just tomorrow. I want you back here by Friday morning.”

“No problem.”

Dane returned to his desk and told Trammell what was happening, then got on the phone again. He had to call three airlines before he found an available flight. After booking his ticket, he called Professor Ewell again and tersely informed him when he would be arriving.

Dane felt naked without the Beretta, but since he wasn’t traveling in any official capacity, he reluctantly left it at home. He couldn’t make himself travel without any weapon, though; he carried a pocketknife that was only a little larger than normal, with nothing else about its appearance that was out of the ordinary, but which had a single blade made from an alloy stronger than steel. The knife also had perfect balance, a requisite for a throwing knife. Throwing a blade was an arcane little skill he had taught himself, on the theory that it might come in handy someday. The knife wasn’t the equal of a pistol, but it was better than nothing.